


Ghost Ghost do not Follow Me

by TheNovelNightingale



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alchera, Angst, Mass Effect 2, Normandy SR1, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Side Story, Survivor Guilt, deep thoughts, errand girl of the alliance, getting tags, kinda spoilers of ME2 I guess, reference to shepard's death, reflecting, remembering lost crew, resurrection is tough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23178229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNovelNightingale/pseuds/TheNovelNightingale
Summary: Shepard is tasked to go to Alchera to gather the tags of her fallen crew.She goes alone, and that is why she suffered.
Kudos: 4





	Ghost Ghost do not Follow Me

She wandered silently, completely alone for the very first time since waking up on a cold table in a Cerberus facility. 

Suspicion of her loyalties did not stop people, specifically the Alliance, from asking, and taking. It had to be **her** responsibility to gather the remaining dog tags of those who didn’t make it from the collector attack. Not as though she herself had gone through the ordeal, but ‘yessir i’ll go back. I’ll get the tags’. 

And she did, each time she found a scorched and or bent set she would just hold it tight in her palm for just a moment, hoping this contact, this touch would assure the attached soul to find their peace. _Do not follow me_ , Shepard wanted to say, _you have avoided another hell_. 

_Because this was your fault_ , the following thoughts boomed in her mind as she kicked a rock out of her path. 

Jane Shepard has walked in cemeteries before; she had been oddly fond of them in her youth. Like the other kids in her school on Mindoir, ghosts were real and you could see them hanging around in the dead of night at the cemetery. Little Jane followed her brother and the ‘big kids’ past curfew to see for herself. Her family, although spiritual, did not want her to believe in ghosts. She wanted to, but the biggest realization she took away from the night she and seven other kids sat around a headstone on old blankets in the chilly night was how much tranquility she found in such a place. 

Cemeteries- graveyards- whatever you called them, were creepy and quiet, calming yet unreal. A place seemingly so old, breathing energy in every hush and every sudden breeze. The eeriness of such places drew her in like a soft song. It was similar to when she visited Earth that same year after the ghost hunt, walking in a church that had been standing for centuries; the artistry that built it, the history it saw, the people who came in and out of it-

Shivers ran up and down her spine, bringing her back to her slow walk around the frozen wasteland. The Normandy was a crewmember in a way, and here she was- scattered in dozens of pieces. Some pieces of her large enough to identify, if the Alliance had cared, maybe she wouldn't be wasting away here, her story could have been told in a museum; the great battle her sleek body maneuvered through against tremendous evil attempting to take control of the Citadel. 

Despite the snow and charred spots, Shepard felt the memories clear away the dirt and smoke for cleaner memories as each recognizable section of the ship came to view. 

She paused each time: the old CIC, a fraction of the drive core, workbenches from the cargo hold, a damned chair from the mess. Tiny pieces to a large, forgotten puzzle, except the mako- which defied all odds, to which no one on her original ground team would be surprised if she told them.

As she continued on, finding more tags, she grew weary. The energy was shifting from the still silence of Commander’s Past to something...else. Uneasiness fell around her. Shepard knew this was supposed to be different, it was different. Different than anything she’s ever experienced, and she was alone. In the back of her mind she had hoped she could push the feelings aside, and pretend it was like any other trip to the cemetery. But no, as she kept walking, hopping up ledges of stone towards another glint of metal sticking out of the ground, deep down she knew this wasn’t a normal payment of respect no matter how she pretended it to be. 

The wind whipped at her helmet. To fill the now uncanny silence, a low soft song was sung under her breath. Sortof a funeral song, after all she was unable to do so two years ago. She heard she had a funeral, but did the others as well? 

_Empty caskets for everyone_ , she thought darkly. What were the chances the almighty terrorist group tried to bring back another? Why did she only get the second chance? 

Because shes Commander fucking Shepard, obedient dog who can bark _and_ bite. 

In her bitter thoughts the woman almost didn’t notice the larger rock in her path. As she got closer to kick it away out of her frustration, she found her body halting to a shaky stop. 

It wasn’t a rock.

Cracked, covered in ice and snow, its broken visor staring right at her beneath frost. Waiting. Shepard stared. The helmet stared back.

The shivers returned, followed by a paralyzing void seeping in her chest. The song stopped. The silence around her got more quiet, except for the wind, which became louder than she remembered. It was screaming the truth she tried to repress. 

This was her graveyard. 

Her first thought was to pick up her helmet and simply face reality through fear confrontation, but she couldn’t move. She tried to take a step forward, back, _sideways_ , but she couldn’t _move_. 

Her breath stopped; suddenly feeling claustrophobic. The energy swirled in to suffocate her. 

Shepard fell to her knees with the impact. This was her graveyard. As if frozen to the floor she reached forward on her knees, her arm reaching as far as her joints could go. Her fingers thumbled at the helmet, pushing down snow, before a grip toppled it towards her. She grasped it, rolling it to her lap. 

Patting it with her hand was enough to release most of the snow, tinkering a little with what was trapped in the cracks and grooves it held. The paint was fading. The marks she bore from battle felt like drawings on ancient caves. This was an artifact, a thing of the past and not the present. 

This object did not belong to her anymore, not really; it belonged to the Shepard who died. The energy created hands and squeezed her throat, suffocated her more. A shaky sudden gasp of air escaped when she realized she had really been holding her breath. Ghosts were not real, and they could not hurt her. 

She kept telling herself that. 

She jerked her head up to look around, somewhat expecting to see dead faces gaping back at her. This place was her graveyard, she belonged here. She had died. 

Her grip tightened, she had _died_. 

Panic swelled. She stood to her feet, shaking. Wondering whether to call someone or not. To confirm she was okay or not. Who would help her? And why? Why would anyone believe she was the Commander they’ve known or heard of? That Shepard might still be dead, and here she was- picking up the pieces once more. Would her old friends come here, and try to see her in the middle of the night on blankets as she did? 

_Get a grip Shepard_ , she thought to herself in desperation. Swinging the helmet to her side she slowly counted to ten before continuing on. Her pace was quicker than before. She snatched the remaining tags, stuffed them into her pockets, and planted the beacon for the memorial drop off without a word.

No more thinking. No more memories. No more songs. No more thoughts of seeing things that don’t exist. 

Commander Shepard left the Normandy SR-1 for the last time, approaching the idle Kodiak. The doors opened within her sight, inviting her back into the real hell of the galaxy. More things to fix, more people to save. Because this- Shepard 2.0 had no business here where the dead rested; and she felt it in her bones.

She didn’t look back. 

Shepard had walked in cemeteries before, but this was the first time she had ever felt so unwelcome in one. 


End file.
